


Cuckoo

by stonemad



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bards, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Magical Theory, Modern Girl in Thedas, Spies, Unhealthy Relationships, rape/non-con is non-explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29013162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonemad/pseuds/stonemad
Summary: “Hello,” the traveler says, her smile as bright as glass. “My name is Juni, and I have some information which I think you could use.”Modern Girl in Thedas joins the Inquisition as a spy.Juni's everyday life is disrupted when an ill-advised experiment transports her through a rift into Thedas. She has played Dragon Age: Inquisition—once. But she has no desire to get comfortable in this strange new world, and her only goal is to find a way home. That is, until Thedas and its inhabitants draw her deeper and deeper into their own lives...
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Fen'Harel | Solas/Original Female Character(s), Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), TBA - Relationship, The Iron Bull (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Varric Tethras/Original Female Character(s), if you squint
Comments: 12
Kudos: 67





	1. Prologue

As the sun clears the tops of the towering Frostbacks, a traveller appears on the road to Haven.

This in itself is not unusual. It has been commonplace since the Herald of Andraste appeared. People flock to Haven in the hopes of getting a glimpse of the Herald. They come to marvel, to sneer, and to make profit; there is always profit to be had when history itself is in the making. Even the ominous peridot light of the Breach isn’t enough to keep them away. Most turn their eyes away from the sight, some stare at it in outright fascination. But this traveller simply glances at the Breach with vague disinterest. Then her eyes return to scanning her surroundings. 

She is human, with dark hair and skin with a hint of Rivain in it. Strong eyebrows and sharp brown eyes make her otherwise plain face distinctive. She is dressed in colourful, if worn, travelling leathers. A ring sits on the index finger of her right hand. Across her back is a slung lute. 

The traveler strides into Haven. She walks past the training soldiers, cajoling traders and the dour-faced quartermaster. Right up to the makeshift shelter that is the centre of Haven’s information network. 

Inside it, a slim, red-headed woman with flinty eyes glances up at her, without much surprise. Still, she does blink at the traveler's next words.

“Hello,” the traveler says, her smile as bright as glass. “My name is Juni, I have some information that I think you could use.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically an excuse to get back into writing because it has been a really long time and I am very out of practice.
> 
> I LOVE modern-person-goes-to-Thedas stories. I have a few that are big inspirations, such as 'Keep to the Stars' by MaryDragon and 'Ad Infinitum' by Stormontheocean. If you haven't read them I would highly recommend.
> 
> Characters and relationships are a little TBA - I have lots of ideas but I'm not sure what will make it into the final fic.
> 
> On another note: If you were a reader of New City, Thedas then I'M SORRY!! I likely won't be finishing or picking it up again any time soon. There is some stuff in that fic that I'm proud of but mostly I think it needs a LOT of work. (This one will too, of course.)
> 
> If you have any questions about the world or feedback to give me as you read please feel free to leave a comment! And thank you for reading!!


	2. The Rift Mage

SIX WEEKS EARLIER...

Everything is sharp, cold, bright pain. I’m naked, and shivering on the hard ground, and the light around me is green. Green like sea-sickness. Like poison. Heady and nauseating. 

I whimper. 

“No, no,” a frantic male voice comes from beside me. His accent sounds French. “This can’t be right.”

I force myself to look up through watering eyes to see a man standing four feet away from me, his back to me. He is old, with silver hair down to his shoulders tied with a leather band. He’s wearing robes, and he has some kind of long walking stick. Staff. Stupidly, my mind thinks, _Wizard_. 

He lifts his staff, spinning it before slamming it down with a grunt with exertion, and to my shock a blast emanates from it, the force of it forcing my body across the ground. I cry out and curl into a ball as sharp rocks scrape my exposed skin. 

The wizard seems to be directing his power towards an extraordinary sight. Familiar yet impossible. It is space that should be there but isn’t, and is, all at the same time. My rattled brain struggles. I must be delusional. Hallucinating. The green light, the strange scent in the air … I’m on some kind of exotic drug and I’ve taken leave of my senses. 

But my _God_ , does that look like a Fade rift. 

There is an almighty cracking sound, and the wizard drops his arms with a cry of frustration or pain. The rift pulsates before him, seeping ichor like a wound. 

The wizard—the mage—turns to me, shouting so that I can hear him above the crackle of the rift. “Est-ce que tu—are you alright?”

“Where are we?” I croak. My voice comes out as terrified as I feel.

“We are in the Fade. Come, we must get you out of here …” 

He mutters to himself as he comes over to me, gripping my arm in his surprisingly strong fingers. He helps me up and I am too flabbergasted to resist, or to care about my nakedness. 

The mage draws me along, towards another rift, and with a complete lack of decorum the two of us fall through it. 

I land on my back, onto grass, looking up at a green-tinted but star-filled night sky. I am winded and shocked, but some sort of sense of self-preservation allows me to move. I struggle up, but then the world tilts and I hit the ground again, tasting dirt and grass and a little blood. 

Behind me, I hear another almighty crackle. I look over my shoulder to see the wizard has succeeded in closing the rift, although not completely. It still shimmers in the air, almost invisible from some angles, but there. 

The wizard turns to me, wiping sweat from his brow. 

“I don’t believe it,” he mutters, staring at me as if he can’t believe his eyes. “This can’t be happening.”

“You’re telling me!” My voice is high pitched with panic. “What the fuck is going on? Who are you? How did I get here?” With a hint of suspicion and outrage, I add, “Why am I naked?”

The mage sighs, pulling a hand through his white hair. 

“I can explain … or at least I can try.” 

He moves closer, lifting his staff. I flinch away, and he pauses. 

“Let me help you,” he says in a gentle tone. “Your mouth is bleeding. I won’t hurt you.”

I lift a hand to my chin, and it comes away red. I realise I’ve bitten my tongue when I can’t even get my next words out past the swelling in my mouth. 

The mage lifts his staff again, and though I have tears in my eyes from pain and shock I let him cast a spell. There is a feeling like a cold breeze rushing over my body and then the small scrapes over my body disappear and the pain in my mouth eases. 

“There,” the mage says, satisfied. Straightening, he puts down his staff, and then starts to pull off his robes. 

“W-what are you doing?” I ask in alarm. He might be an old man, but still …

The mage slows his movements, robes hoisted up to show his skinny knees. 

“I’m going to give you my robe,” he explains, holding his hands up peaceably. “To cover yourself. Unless you’d prefer to walk back to the camp naked?”

“I …” I flush. I do want to be covered. I don’t think I have ever felt so vulnerable in my life. Better for him to be naked than me. 

“Yes, OK!” I snap.

The mage gives me a slight smile before shrugging his robes off over his head. Thankfully, he is wearing some sort of undergarments beneath it; a pair of pantaloons made of cotton and a singlet. He offers the robe to me. Goosebumps prickle on his skin, and I realise that wherever we are, it’s quite cold. 

Inching forward at first, I reach out and then snatch the robe from him like an untamed animal. I quickly pull it on. It’s far too long, but he hands me his belt and I manage to hoist the robe up at my waist. It smells a little of sweat and some unpleasant kind of herb, but it’s very warm. Dressed, I feel more composed.

Lifting my chin, I tell him, “I suppose we’d better get back to this camp of yours before you freeze, sir. But while we’re doing that, you’d better have a good goddamn story about how I came to be here.”

***

His name is Mattheau, and he is an Orlesian mage and a member of the Mages’ Collective. 

I let this information wash over me, my jaw working as I try to keep myself from … what, exactly, I don’t know. Crying. Laughing. Flying into a rage. More than anything I feel confused. I don’t seem to have any memory of the immediate events leading up to being spat out of the rift. 

So. He is Mattheau. He is a mage. And I am in Orlais. Somewhere between the Dales and Emprise Du Lion, to be exact.

“The Mages’ Collective tasked me with researching the rifts,” he tells me. He keeps one eye on me at all times, as if he can tell how close to snapping I am. “Well, I say ‘tasked’. I jumped at the chance, to be truthful.”

I force my lips into what I hope is a pleasant smile, but it feels like there are a few too many teeth involved. 

“As riveting as it is to learn about you, Mr. Matthau, I would like you to explain how I came to be here.”

Mattheau clears his throat. “Yes. Well. I suppose the short answer to that is; I’m not quite sure.” 

I stop walking, and he flinches at whatever he sees in my expression. “What’s the long answer?” I ask.

He clears his throat again, wrapping his arms around himself to ward against the night air.

In a level voice, he says, “I was attempting to use the rift to create a portal into another part of Thedas. The idea was that rift magic might be used for teleportation.” His eyes brighten, even as my heart starts to speed up. “Just think of the benefits, if such a thing were possible! Trade would become instantaneous! People could travel the world at the merest of thoughts. We could see Par Vollen, Antiva, Ferelden all in a day, with the right spell…”

A feeling of dread is beginning to creep into my gut as I realise where this is going. “And? Was your attempt successful?”

He gives a small laugh, gesturing at me. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

I lunge towards him and grab the front of his singlet, shaking him in a way that will make me feel quite bad later. 

“So send me back!” I shout. “Why are we here, walking around in the freezing cold air in nothing but a stinking robe and your filthy undies between us?” 

Mattheau grabs my arm, and then, the bastard, he casts a spell. I freeze in place as ice sheathes over my skin, my jaw and limbs locking, only my eyes able to move. 

“My apologies,” he says regretfully. “I can’t let you attack me in the middle of nowhere, for your sake as well as mine. It would be very inhospitable of me not to take care of you, as it is my fault that you are here in the first place.” He peers at my eyes, a furrow in his brow, before saying, “You ... still seem angry, so let me finish my explanation before I set you free.”

If looks could kill, Mattheau would be a dead man. 

“As I said,” he continues, “I was attempting to open a portal to my colleague in Redcliffe. It seemed I was not making much progress at first. But I must have been only moments away from a breakthrough. There was a burst of energy—I am unsure what caused it—and then suddenly the portal seemed to connect! I reached through, guarding myself with a barrier, but the sight that was before me…” 

He falters, his brow furrowing. “I do not know what exactly it was. It was like nothing I have ever seen before, not in all my life, not even in the Fade. Then the rift pulsed. The next thing I knew you were there at my feet and the rift was becoming increasingly unstable.”

My eyes dart from side to side, my breathing becoming harsh from panic. The paraphernalia of a magical ritual is dotted over the grassland. A skull, candles, a rune drawn on a rock nearby. My heart is racing in my throat. If what he’s telling me is true, how did he get me here? Surely the power of one mage alone is not enough to pull me from my safe, normal, sane reality into fucking Thedas. Did he do something special? Did he use blood magic?

“Please, stay calm,” the mage urges. Speaking quickly, serious now, he says, “You were an unintended consequence of the spell. Obviously. I have no idea who you even are, so rest assured, I do not wish to ransom you or do anything untoward with you. I only want to send you home. I have a good idea of how to do it, in theory at least. It must be possible, if we could bring you here.

“And I …” He hesitates before saying, “I am very sorry that this happened to you.” He does look contrite, and he places his hand on his heart. “I promise you, my colleagues and I will get you back home. The theory is … Well, I won’t go into that right now. I think it’s more important that we get somewhere warm, and get dressed, and then we can think about what to do next, hmm?” 

I suddenly find I am able to talk, my body released from the hold of the spell. My skin is freezing from it, and my stomach plummets with the impossibility of what he is saying. I still want to shout at him, but the only sound that comes from my mouth is a strangled sort of sob. Tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks.

Mattheau looks both appalled and concerned. “Oh my dear … There, there.” He pats me gingerly on the arm, his lined face sympathetic. “I am so very sorry about this mess. But do not fear, we will get you home. Come along now, the camp isn’t far, and I’m sure you’ll feel better once we’ve had some rest and something to eat.”

“Okay,” I say between the undignified hiccupping sounds I’m making. Food does sound good. 

“What is your name?” he asks. 

“Juni.” I sniffle. “My name is Juni.”

***

The two of us walk side by side in silence, until I start to limp from stepping on rocks. Then he heals my feet, and casts some sort of hardening spell on them to make the walk easier. He looks exhausted, and I wonder in the back of my mind if it was a waste of mana for him to do that.

Still, if he brought me here, he damn well better take care of me. 

As we walk I try to calm myself down. I’m not sure what my last memory is of before I appeared in the Fade with Mattheau. I can remember scenes from my normal life, like getting on the bus, or going to work. But everything is jumbled and out of order. I can’t tell what came first or last. 

Thinking of home brings fresh tears to my eyes. I feel like I did the first time I went travelling overseas on my own. Stepping off the plane, I had felt assaulted by the unfamiliar sights and scents of Germany. I had been intensely homesick, but I felt then was nothing compared to what I feel now. 

I stop trying to remember what happened and focus on the present. 

I’m in Thedas. In a world I know, if only through stories and video games. That’s something, at least. I can speak the language—for some reason. I know what a mage is, I know what the Fade is. I cling to that, recognising that if I didn’t even know that much I might be going mad right now. There’s a good chance I _am_ mad, or hallucinating like I thought in the rift. But it has been a good forty minutes now at my estimate. If this is some sort of dream, I don’t seem to be able to wake myself up from it. I need to be thinking of how to survive here. 

Anxiety makes me feel sick. I’m an imaginative person; it’s all too easy to think of the kinds of things that could go wrong in a scenario like this. Mattheau may not have my best interests in mind. Mattheau’s colleagues might decide I’m a demon, and try to exorcise me. Even if the mages are friendly, it might take some time before they’re able to send me back, if they’re able to send me back at all. 

I could be stuck here. Stuck here, and reliant on a crazy mage practicing experimental rift magic. 

He thinks I’m from Thedas, I realise. I don’t know whether to try and enlighten him on the truth of it. If I do, there’s a chance he might change his mind about sending me back. I can only imagine how fascinating someone like me might be to a mage, and if he’s excited by the idea of teleportation … 

I glance at him, and start when I realise he’s watching me. He gives me a benign smile. 

In a soothing voice, as if speaking to a nervy horse, he says, “We’re almost at the camp. Do not fear, my lady.” 

“My lady?” I repeat with a frown, unsure whether to take offence. 

He looks a little confused by my response. “Yes … You are a noblewoman, are you not?”

I frown, caught between the conflicting emotions of flattered and affronted. “I’m … not. No.” 

“I see.” He hesitates. “I don’t mean to pry,” he says. “Not if you don’t want to tell me. But it might assist our cause to know your family name, and where you’re from.” 

“Don’t you know where I’m from?” I ask, annoyed, even though I am already sure he doesn’t. “You’re gonna have a hard time sending me back if you don’t even know where I came from.” 

“I know where I thought you were from,” he says slowly. “But your accent is … different. Unlike anything I have heard before. I thought I was connecting a portal to Redcliffe …”

Shit. My accent. I’m Irish on my mum’s side. I wouldn’t say I have a particularly strong accent, but it might be more noticeable in a place like Thedas. 

“Where do you think I’m from?” I hedge.

“Well … of Ferelden, I suppose. But there is something else there … Have you spent time in the Free Marches? Or ... the Dales?”

I sigh, murmuring, “I’ve been all over the place.” When Mattheau opens his mouth to ask another question, I forestall him. “Why was I naked?”

Mattheau blushes. “Well … I am not sure. What were you doing before you arrived here?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“You don’t?”

“No. I can’t remember.” 

Mattheau grimaces, but he doesn’t seem that surprised by the information. “Exposure to the raw Fade can affect memories,” he tells me. “They may come back, with time.” He doesn’t sound too hopeful though. 

This lines up with my knowledge from the game. I sigh. “Great. Where is this stupid camp?”

“Just over the next hill,” he says, voice mild. 

“Finally,” I mutter, then feel a little bit bad at how ungrateful I sound. If it stops Mattheau from asking any more awkward questions, I’m okay with letting him think I’m angry at him.

 _Am_ I angry at him? I am. I must be. His stupid experiment tore me from the life I knew. He has thrust me into a precarious situation, where demons and blood magic are real threats. 

When we arrive at the camp, Mattheau is true to his word. He gives me a clean robe to wear, as well as a shift to go beneath it to keep me warm. Dinner is a simple broth, but I’m so hungry and cold that I don’t care what could be in it. It actually tastes good. 

The night is spent uncomfortably together in the same tent. It’s too cold to do otherwise. Mattheau’s tent is stuffed with books, which doesn’t seem that practical for camping. A chill wind whistles through the guide ropes, and the cloudless sky is bright with two moons. One of them is almost full. Their light filters through the canvas of the tent. Mattheau snores, but even if he didn’t, I doubt I would have been able to sleep. My eyes are open. 

I lie there, mind racing. 

Thedas. Dragon Age. 

Thedas. 

Dragon Age.

My senses are filled with the scent of old books, the chill of the air and the sound of Mattheau’s snoring. But it doesn’t quite feel real. 

And that is the only thing stopping it from being completely terrifying.


	3. The Rift Mage pt. 2

_ My little brother Rupert is all legs and knees. At fourteen years old, he is almost as tall as I am already. I expected him to stop being cute when he reached this age. But he’s the same as he always was; inquisitive, thoughtful, and with a sly sense of humour. My smart, funny little brother. _

_ He’s over at my place again. Our parents—well, my dad and his mum—have been fighting. Sometimes I resent our twelve year age difference, but at times like this I am glad for it. To be an adult, when all the adults in our lives aren’t pulling their weight. _

_ I’ve made waffles, and we’re now drowning them in syrup. _

_ “You wanna play a video game tonight?” I ask him. _

_ “Mario Kart?” Rupert suggests. _

_ “Sure.” I pass him his waffle and cut into mine with the side of my fork. “After you do your homework.” _

_ He gets that look on his face, the one that tells me he’s about to turn on the charm. “I already did it,” he says with a wide-eyed smile. _

_ “Uh-huh. Sure you did.” _

_ “No, really!” _

_ I raise my eyebrows at him, giving him a flat look. “You brought it with you, at least, right?” _

_ He glances away for a second. I laugh, and he scowls, realising he’s slipped up. _

_ “Juuuniiii…” he starts to plead. “I’ve still got, like, three days.” _

_ “Ruuuperrrt,” I say to him with a grin. “Come on. You don’t want to end up like me, do you?” _

_ “What’s wrong with ending up like you?” His tone is defensive, angry even. “You have a job, and you pay rent. You’re contributing to society. And you’re not stuck doing something you hate just to make you look good!” _

_ I blink, unsure what to say to that. Rupert stabs his waffle and picks the whole thing up with his fork, sinking his teeth into the side. The sight makes me smile. _

_ “You’re right,” I say. “My life’s pretty cool, I guess. But I want you to be able to choose to lead a life like mine, rather than being forced into it. So do your homework.” _

_ Rupert grunts. “It’s not like doing my homework is going to guarantee any of that.” _

_ He’s right, of course, but I say stubbornly, “If you’re smart enough to figure that out, you’re smart enough to know why you need to do your homework.” _

_ “Fiiine,” he sighs around a mouthful of waffle. “Can you help me?” _

_ “Uh … okay. You might need to teach me first though.” _

_ “It’s French.” _

_ “Oh, goodie. We’ll suffer together.” _

_ He laughs, and I smile, and we eat our waffles. _

***

I awaken with a start. It’s still dark in the tent, but a few weak rays of sunlight filter feebly through the door. Mattheau is up already; I can hear a crackling of flames and the clang of pots and pans outside.

It’s the third day of travel. The third day in Thedas.

I miss coffee. I miss baths and showers. But there are things I miss even more than that.

Covering my eyes with my arm, I draw in a deep breath and then let it out slowly.

_ Don’t think about it _ , I tell myself. It is advice I have employed many times before. _ You’re going home. Just get through the day. _

I sit up. My hip is sore from sleeping on the thin bedroll. My legs ache from the travel, too, but I have grown accustomed to the exercise. At least I can keep up with Mattheau now. I never thought I would be outpaced so easily by a man who must be at least in his seventies.

Dressed in one of Mattheau’s robes and a woolen cloak, I emerge from the tent and look around. The area we’ve been hiking through is hilly and bare, and cold winds sweep often over the plains. Drifts of mist scull along the ground, heralding the great clouds that I know will come later in the day. It has rained more than once. I wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed.

I realise I don’t know what season it is. Or what year it is, for that matter. Not that I can remember the dates of the events of Dragon Age.

“How long has it been since the Breach appeared?” I ask Mattheau as I go over to the fire.

Mattheau has a pan on the flames and is making his usual breakfast fare; a savoury porridge rather like congee. He gives me a surprised look. “Why, it has been … nearly eight weeks now.”

I nod, unsure how to feel about this information. I feel a bit relieved that I haven’t missed out on much, but I don’t know why. It’s not a good thing, considering the events that are to come.

Mattheau has tilted his head in a way I am starting to become familiar with.

“Are you considering the possibility that the rifts may allow travel through time?” he asks. “It  _ is _ theoretically possible, though I only know the theory due to my research, as it is generally agreed that the pursuit of it would be—”

I hold up a hand, exasperated. I’ve been on the receiving end of a few of his magical theory lectures as we travel. Needless to say, I haven’t really been in the mood.

“I haven’t travelled through time,” I tell him, and he actually looks a little crestfallen. “I was just wondering … Time might move differently in the Fade or something, I don’t know …”

Mattheau nods and smiles at me. He seems to be happy that I’m finally doing more than grunting at him when he asks a question.

“Are you a scholar?” he asks keenly. “It is rare to find someone with an interest in such abstract matters.”

My lips twitch. “No … I’m no scholar.” You don’t call someone who dropped out of school a scholar.

Over the past few days I’ve considered what it will be safe to tell him. Now that the subject has been broached, I say, “I’m a musician.” It’s true enough. I can sing and play a few stringed instruments. I’ve never played a lute or whatever it is that Maryden plays, but I think I could figure it out.

“Oh!” Mattheau’s expression clears. “I see! A bard?”

I nod. “That’s why my accent is a bit strange,” I tell him. “I’ve travelled around.”

“As I thought, you do not have the look of a labourer or a warrior,” he says. “And you said you were not noble … so I wondered.”

I don’t feel particularly bad about lying to him. It’s for my own protection, and there’s no telling how the information of my true origins would affect his life. The less he knows about me the better. But I do need to give him some information at least.

“Where were you born?” Mattheau asks, and I repress the urge to grimace. A difficult question.

“I don’t want to tell you where I came from,” I say.

Mattheau raises his eyebrows. “Very well … but … may I ask why?”

“I can tell you I’m not from Redcliffe. Your portal didn’t open there. But I don’t want to tell you where I am from, because it may affect the results of your magic.”

“What do you mean?”

I sigh, and perch myself on a rock across from him. “It’s … it should help you. If you are not distracted by my destination, you can look at what went wrong with the spell and work back from there, right?”

Mattheau nods slowly. “I see your reasoning. However there is one problem with that; I do not know what went wrong with the spell. It may be quite impossible to get you back home that way if I do not have all the information.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my lips together. It’s the last thing I want to hear. Panic at the corners of my mind like wings in the dark. I repress it, taking another slow breath.

Opening my eyes, I see Mattheau is watching me closely.

“Is there another reason why you do not wish to tell me where you came from?” Mattheau asks.

Reluctantly, I nod, but do not elaborate.

Mattheau frowns. “Is it due to your upbringing? Would it be bad if I knew who you were, where you are from? Could it be you are from somewhere …” He searches for the words, before saying with a pained expression, “Please tell me you are not from Tevinter. Or, Maker forbid, Par Vollen.”

I blink and let out a small, harsh laugh. “No. I’ve never been anywhere near Tevinter or Par Vollen. Did you think I was a runaway slave?”

Mattheau looks at me seriously. “I am … not sure what you are. We have barely known each other for a few days, but you are unlike any person I have met before. The thought did occur to me that you could be a convert to the Qun, or perhaps a Tevinter slave.”

“A slave?” I ask. “I thought you said I don’t look like a labourer...”

Mattheau glances away for a moment. “There are other kinds.”

A chill goes through me. I can’t even begin to imagine what it might mean to be a slave in Tevinter. I tell myself that, anyway. Yet more things in this world to be afraid of.

“I’m not a slave,” I say, shaken.

“If you were,” Mattheau says, looking at me again, “You need not go back. You could stay here.”

I shake my head quickly. “No, no. I think you’ve got the wrong idea. I haven’t lived a life of hardship. The opposite, in fact.” My life is–was–one of parties and drinks and creature comforts.

I notice Mattheau’s eyebrows twitch upwards and remind myself to be more careful. Mattheau is clever. Even a small hint about my life might be enough for him to figure out where I’ve come from.

“Then why do you not want to tell me?” he asks, obviously confused. “You are not a Templar or a Chantry sister …”

“Would where I’m from change your conviction to help me?” I ask. My hands are balled up, nails biting into my palms.

“I …” He hesitates, then looks me in the eye. “No. If you want to go back, I will help you, no matter where you are from.”

“I do. I have to go back,” I insist.

“Very well. I understand.”

“Thank you,” I breathe in relief. Thinking about what he has said, I say with a small smile, “What would be worse? If I was from Tevinter, or Par Vollen?”

Mattheau chuckles. “The nation that idolises mages or the nation that sews their mouths shut? I am no friend of Tevinter, but I am  _ very  _ glad you do not follow the Qun.”

***

After two more days of travel I am getting to know Mattheau quite well.

He is an early riser. He brushes his white hair very meticulously every morning. His cooking skills are limited, but sound.

He is also happy to tell me anything I wish to know. He notices my interest in the plants of Thedas and starts to point out patches of elfroot and rashvine. He shows me how to make a poultice by grinding up elfroot and mixing it with fresh ash, oil or water. He also tells me that the leaves of elfroot can be chewed for mild pain relief. I try one, and immediately spit it out; the taste is strong and bitter. Mattheau laughs with the joy of a grade schooler pulling a prank.

I try not to ask him too many questions that might raise suspicion. I still don’t know who the Hero of Ferelden is, for example, nor anything about the Herald of Andraste.

“Why were you out here on your own?” I ask him one day as we stop for lunch. “Shouldn’t your colleagues have been helping you?”

Mattheau smiles sheepishly. “They … did not approve of my idea to teleport through the Fade. It could have been dangerous. The theory is sound!” he defends himself. “It is similar to fade-stepping, but on a larger scale—”

“They were right though,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “Something went wrong, and now I’m here.”

Guilt is written all over his face. He puts down his bowl and bows to me, fist against his chest in a salute.

“I must apologise again,” he says. “I was prepared to take risks … but I had no idea that my experiment would affect a bystander such as yourself. I will get you home. I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.”

I sigh, grimacing. It’s kind of hard to stay angry at him with how sincere he is.

“Never mind,” I murmur. “I’m here now.”

***

As we speak more, I notice that it isn’t  _ quite  _ English, what Mattheau speaks. We have no trouble understanding each other, but every now and then a word or turn of phrase will come up that isn’t quite right. Thankfully the meaning is usually clear through context. It’s as if we are speaking two different dialects of the same language. I wonder if this is because he’s Orlesian, or if this is the ‘Thedosian’ equivalent of English.

I take a look at Mattheau’s books one day and grimace when I see that the writing is unknown to me.

“Are you able to read?” Mattheau asks, seeing me looking. I shake my head, and he nods, unsurprised. “Would you like to learn?”

“You’d teach me?” I ask in surprise.

“Of course,” Mattheau says. “You seem like a bright girl. It would be a waste for you to remain illiterate.”

The opportunity is too good to pass up. Being unable to read puts me at a severe disadvantage.

“I think you’d be a good teacher,” I say with a winning smile. It seems like something he would like to hear.

He laughs. “Oh you are quite good with your flattery! We Orlesians do love a well delivered compliment.”

“I’ll think some more up, then,” I say with a grin.

“Tell me something, Juni,” he says next. “You are not a mage, but you do not appear to be afraid of me. Why is that?”

“Huh?” I am surprised by the question. “I mean … you’ve been trying to convince me this whole time that you’re a nice person,” I say wryly. “You were succeeding until just now, you know.”

Mattheau chuckles. “I am not saying it is not welcome,” he says. “It is just that … Usually people see the staff and get this look in their eyes. Like I am about to turn them into something slimy. It is refreshing, to say the least, the way you treat me.”

That makes me fall quiet. It’s not like I’ve been particularly nice to him. I was angry that he pulled me through the rift, and I am sure he has noticed how rude I’ve been. But even with that, he thanks me for my treatment of him? I look at the ground, a little ashamed.

Mattheau is digging around in his bag, not seeming to notice my reserve. Eventually he pulls something out.

“I want you to have this,” he says. “In case we run into any trouble as we get closer to civilisation.”

He hands me a ring with a dull blue stone in it. I look it over. It seems entirely ordinary.

“A ring?” I ask. “A magic ring?”

“It has an enchantment of stealth upon it,” Mattheau says. “If you wear it and stay very still, most gazes will slip right past you.”

I’m fascinated by the idea. When I had played Dragon Age, my character was always a rogue.

Intrigued, I put the ring on my index finger and hold still. Nothing seems to happen for a minute. Then I notice that my body has been reduced to a shimmering kind of haze, like a heat wave.

I start in surprise and the effect disappears, rendering me visible again. “Cool!”

Mattheau laughs at my excitement. “Indeed. If we get into a fight, please get somewhere safe and stay still - it is unlikely you will be targeted.”

“What about you though?” I ask. “Don’t you need it?”

Mattheau shakes his head. “That is a ring for a non-mage. The enchantment will affect any spells I might try to cast. I only have it for bartering.” He pats my hand. “You may keep it, Juni.”

“But … isn’t it expensive?” I don’t know how to feel about accepting the gift, even to keep me safe, but I can’t deny that I’m pleased by it.

“You may keep it, or sell it if necessary,” he says. “As long as it keeps you safe, I do not consider it a loss.”

“Thank you,” I say, surprised and touched.

“Not at all, my dear.” Mattheau smiles. “Practice moving with it, if you like. If you move slowly and smoothly, the illusory effect will last longer.”

“Is it likely we will run into trouble?”

“It is unlikely,” he says. “There are very few settlements at this altitude, but sometimes wolves or bandits appear. This should help keep you safe if I have to fend them off.”

After dinner I practice moving with the ring, trying to figure out how to use it. After some time I get the hang of it. With certain rhythm to my steps, a care in where I place my feet, and an effort of will, I vanish from sight. When Mattheau finally notices what I’m doing, he does a double take. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus on me.

“You are a quick study,” he says in approval.

Buoyed by my success, I grin at him. “I know, right?”

***

True to Mattheau’s prediction, we don’t run into any trouble. We spot a pack of wolves in the distance once, but Mattheau flares the gem at the end of his staff. The wolves slink off.

“We will arrive at my colleagues’ base tomorrow,” Mattheau tells me the following night.

I have now spent eight days in Thedas. My legs have adjusted to the hiking, which is now much easier than I would have thought possible. I haven’t been sleeping well, but I  _ have  _ been sleeping. I’m too exhausted at the end of the day to do otherwise.

“So … What are you going to tell them?” I ask.

He looks nervous. “...Perhaps we could just tell them you are my long-lost daughter, instead of the truth.”

I snort. “Um. I really do want them to help me get home, Mattheau.”

He sighs, shoulders wilting. “I know, I know.”

“Will they be that mad?”

“I am not sure how they will react, my dear.”

“Mattheau …” I hesitate. He has been nothing but honest with me as far as I can tell, so I ask him, “Is there any chance they won’t help me?”

Mattheau frowns. He doesn’t rush to reassure me. My heart sinks.

Seeing my expression, Mattheau explains, “I think it is unlikely that they will outright refuse. There will be considerations, of course. Rift magic is dangerous. It is the very reason that they did not want me experimenting with teleportation in the first place.

“But ultimately, I believe they will find the problem too curious to just let alone.” He gives me a smile. I notice that his front tooth is crooked. “They will be fascinated by you, I am sure.”

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that."

“Do not worry. I will make it clear to them that you are a guest, and a reluctant one at that. And though they can be … enthusiastic … they are all good people.” He smiles with real warmth, and I relax.

“I guess it’s not like I have much choice,” I say wryly, and then grin when he reacts with his usual expression of remorse. “It’s okay, Mattheau. I know you’re doing everything you can to get me home.”

He sighs, patting my hand. “I am glad it was you I pulled through the rift, child,” he tells me. “I regret that I have made things hard for you. But for my part, you have been a very pleasant travel companion.”

I feel a small glow in my chest. It was rare to be treated with such respect or kindness by those older than me in my own world. The experience is rather novel.

“Just tell them what happened.” I shrug, and then add with no small amount of irony, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

***

Instant pandemonium.

I expected a reaction, sure, but this is a  _ reaction.  _ The mages barely listen to Mattheau’s stammered explanation before all hell breaks loose. Two of the mages start shouting at Mattheau in Orlesian. Another two descend upon me, babbling excitedly.

“Where are you from? Rivain? Antiva?”

“What did it feel like going through the Fade?”

“You’re not even a mage! Have you experienced any side effects?”

I hold up my hands, looking over to see Mattheau obviously being scolded by a tall woman in a black robe. Another mage is massaging the bridge of his nose as if he has a sudden headache. Mattheau, for his part, is doing his best to look repentant.

I sigh. “This is a disaster,” I mutter.

Then I will myself invisible and run back out the door.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent too long on this chapter so POSTING IT!  
> Thanks so much to everyone who has subscribed, left kudos or commented!!! It's super encouraging!   
> I'm hoping to update this fic weekly (on Friday). I have a lot of words written already, but they're not full chapters, so I'm not sure how long each chapter will take.   
> I'm really looking forward to Juni getting to Haven.   
> If you feel like leaving a comment I would love to know what you think so far! Thank you for reading!


	4. The Keep

“Ready, Juni?” Mattheau calls.

I am standing in the middle of the courtyard of the Rift Mages’ keep, mud up to the ankles of my borrowed boots. It has been raining a lot lately. Mattheau stands in the west corner, staff raised. The other three corners are occupied by other mages; Piotra, Evanore, and Haralt. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” I call back.

Mattheau lowers his staff. “Would you like to stop the experiment?” 

“No! No …” I wrap my arms around myself and grit my teeth. “No, let’s go. I’m ready.”

“Are you sure—?”

“Yes, yes, let’s get on with it.”

Evanore’s crisp voice calls out. “Mages! On my count! One, two—”

Her third count is lost in the roar of the rift opening before me. I stare at it in horror and fascination. It’s not the first time I’ve seen the Rift Mages do this, but the impact is the same every time. The rifts seem to pull at me in a way I can’t describe. It’s as if they tilt gravity in their direction. This is the first time I have been so close though since the first rift I fell through. 

The air around me shimmers as Mattheau places a barrier around me. “Alright!” He calls. “Approach! Slowly!”

I nod and step towards the rift. The pulling effect increases, and I find my muscles straining against the invisible force. 

“It’s still pulling at me!” I yell at Mattheau. “I … I don’t think…”

“Step back, Juni!”

I do so with an effort as the barrier around me flickers out. 

Then the demons come.

Another mage—Piotra, I think—raises another barrier around me as the first wisps appear. I stumble back in terror.

I know wisps aren’t a huge deal to a mage, but to me they are terrifying.

The one closest to me turns its translucent head in my direction. 

“Your knife, Juni!” Piotra cries, even as she twirls her staff in an attack. A bolt of lightning shoots from it and zig-zags from one wisp to another. They jerk, their approach interrupted. 

The knife. I had completely forgotten about it in my fear. I fumble at my belt and pull out a small iron blade. It's not good for much more than cooking with, but it's imbued with a demon-slaying rune. But the mages have already dispatched the demons with no trouble, so I don’t need to use it. 

When the last wisp disappears Haralt drops his arms with a grunt. “Blasted things,” he hisses. “I thought we’d cleared them all out!”

“The increased activity draws them to the rift,” Evanore says. “Maybe? I believe so. We must work on this.” 

“Are you okay, Juni?” Piotra says, hurrying over to me. The wind has tangled her hair around her pointed ears. 

“I’m fine,” I manage with a smile. I secure the knife away before looking over at Mattheau and Evanore.

Evanore stands before the rift like a slender tree before a hurricane. She isn’t intimidated though. With a twisting motion of her staff she draws the edges of the rift together. The rift makes a sucking sound, and the roaring, crackling noise quietens. The rift all but disappears.

The Rift Mages don’t seem to be able to close the rifts completely, the way the Herald can. Mattheau described it as a patching of the veil, rather than a mending. 

“Should we try it again?” I ask them as they come over. 

“I think we had best allow the rift some time,” Mattheau says. “Demons will be drawn to it for a while. It would not be good for it to attract anything more dangerous from within the Fade ... I am sorry, my dear,” he adds, noting my disappointed expression. “We must do this safely.”

I nod, shrugging a shoulder. I’ve resigned myself to the slow pace of the mages experimentation, although the delay had chafed at first.

On the day I arrived, after my reflexive run from the keep, Mattheau had come after me. He had found me fast enough with a spell, but it had taken some coaxing from him before I finally returned to the keep. The second time the mages acted with a little more decorum. 

The Rift Mages are few, and they come and go in from the keep as they conduct their experiments. But Piotra, Evanore and Haralt are always there, and they are the ones who have been helping Mattheau with his plans to get me back through a rift.

They have been very hospitable. It surprised me; I thought the mages collective would have been more secretive. They shared their food and lodgings without a second thought. Like Mattheau, they appreciate any interest I show in their studies. Piotra, in particular, seems excited to have me around, perhaps because we are of a similar age. Most of the others are in their late forties, at least. 

The experiments to get me back through the rifts began straight away. Evanore and Mattheau work late into the night, talking, drawing diagrams, researching. Their spellcasting jargon sounds a lot like physics. I help out as much as I can; it’s in my best interests, after all. I do my best to guide them as subtly as I can when their conjecture gets off course. There’s only so much I can offer as a non-mage though, and my help is limited.

They still don’t know. The question of my origins interests some of them and is dismissed by others. 

Evanore, for example, has zero interest. She seems to think my excuse—focusing on the spell rather than destination—has some merit to it. 

Haralt, on the other hand, is the opposite, and he is the one I need to watch out for the most. I can tell he is wary of my presence in the keep. He watches me. I see his eyes narrow every time I reveal something about my past, mostly through ignorance. 

All the little things that I don’t know add up. I didn’t know how clothing worked here; Piotra had to help me get dressed, the first time I was given new clothing. I don’t know the names of dishes, or books, or even songs. All the little customs that make up a culture are traps for me to walk into. 

I get by by watching the others and mimicking their actions. But it’s still not enough. Piotra wonders. Haralt suspects. Even scattered Evanore must know by now that I am from somewhere very far away.

I’m convinced that Haralt thinks I’m a spy. For who, I don’t know. Perhaps he doesn’t either. Maybe that’s the only thing stopping him from kicking me out.

I notice him watching me as the mages go back to their individual studies. Giving him a bland smile and a jaunty wave, I decide to follow Mattheau to his favourite corner of the keep. Mattheau smiles at me and lets me tag along. 

“Is Haralt giving you trouble?” he asks in a low voice as we walk. 

“Who, him? Pssh.” I flip my hand. “I’ve dealt with way worse.”

Mattheau gives me a grimace as if he doesn’t think that idea is very funny. 

“Haralt grew up as an apostate near Kirkwall,” he explains. “He’s just cautious. He’ll warm up to you … eventually.”

“It’s okay. We don’t need to be friends.” Mattheau looks distressed by my apathy on the topic, so I add, “As long as he doesn’t kick me out I’m happy.”

“He won’t do that.”

“He might.” My voice is mild, and I smile at him. “I know I’m a bother to you here.”

“That isn’t the case, child," Mattheau says, his voice firm. “You’re the most excitement we’ve had around here in months.” 

I shoot him an amused look. “More exciting than the Breach?”

“Um …” he twists his short beard between his fingers. “Well …” 

His inability to lie makes me laugh. 

Mattheau leads us to his favourite spot in the keep, a dusty library strewn with books and scrolls. As Mattheau becomes absorbed in his books, I pickup my own reading. It’s a laborious process. The little rune-like markings of the Common alphabet are all alike, at least to my eye. 

I struggle with the reading for half an hour before putting my book down. 

Mattheau lifts his head. “Done already?” 

“I’ve got chores to do.”

Mattheau takes a quill and pretends to write in the air. “Rift traveller’s log, day twenty-nine. Subject’s behaviour grows increasingly strange. She prefers chores to reading—” 

My lips twitch. “Do you want me to visit the village or not?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips.

Mattheau chuckles and he gives me a minute bow from his seat. “Your assistance is always appreciated, Juni.”

I grin, bowing back, before hurrying off to get ready for the hour-long walk to the village. 

The mages’ keep is perched on an outcrop of stone overlooking a valley with a river. Mattheau pointed out the location on a map when I asked. The keep is roughly north-east of Ville Montevelan, and south of Sahrnia. As I pored over the map I realised that geographically we are not too far from Haven. Of course the Frostbacks are between us, so it’s not like I can just walk there in a few days. 

In the valley below the keep there is a small village called Rieve. It's where the majority of the mages’ supplies come from. The relationship between the mages and the village is tense but tolerant. Both groups depend on each other. The mages provide the village with everything from charms to health potions. In return, the village keeps the mages from starving to death. 

That doesn't mean the relationship is easy though. When I suggested running their errands to the village for them, the Rift Mages jumped at the idea. More time for their experiments; less time startling hapless villagers.

The villagers know me as a bard from the Free Marches, running errands for the mages to make some coin. I spun them a story about being robbed of my supplies and my instrument on the road and they seemed to accept it. I think they’re just happy that they don’t have to deal directly with the mages now. 

Lying becomes easier every day. 

There are two good things about visiting the village, aside from the fresh air and the walk. 

The first is the gossip. I learned more about the state of the world from the villagers in two days than I did in two weeks with the mages. 

I know now, finally, who the Inquisitor is. Evelyn Trevelyan. A former Templar-in-training from Ostwick. Her backstory isn’t that familiar to me; I have only played Inquisition once, as a Dalish rogue. I’d started again, as a female Qunari warrior, but I hadn’t gotten any farther than recruiting Blackwall. 

The village gossip isn’t too specific about Trevelyan. They seem torn between religious awe and suspicion at the idea of the Herald of Andraste. I wouldn’t have expected the village to have heard anything about the Herald, not yet. Perhaps word has already reached Rieve because of its proximity to Haven. 

I pick up a few other tidbits as well, mostly information I knew once but had forgotten. The last time I played Dragon Age was … what? Two years ago? But I find that talking to the villagers jogs my memory. Pieces come back to me, bit by bit. 

The second good thing about Rieve is the lute.

As usual, I head to the tiny farmer’s market first, but I always detour past the carpenter’s shop to look at the lute. I glance through the open shutters to see it hanging on the back wall. Unused. Unplayed. 

It calls to me.

“Back again, bard?” the carpenter grins at me. “Got that coin yet?”

I slow my pace and half skip up to him, grinning. “Not yet, serah. But soon.” I hold out my hands and make grabby-motions with my fingers in the direction of the lute. “Can I play it?” 

The old carpenter rolls his eyes. “If you call that noise ‘playing’.”

“If you’d let me re-tune the strings—” 

“Get out of it, girl. You can mess with it once you’ve paid me my gold.”

“Yesser,” I say, slipping past him to lift the lute from its place on the wall.

It belonged to the carpenter’s maternal grandmother, who had been from a family of luthiers. It’s gorgeous. Terribly old, and the strings sound like they needed to be replaced a year ago, but even I can tell the craftsmanship is superb. 

I hug it to my chest like a teddy bear. The smooth neck is cool against my cheek. 

It’s more than simple appreciation that draws me to the lute. If I do get stuck here in Thedas, the lute might be my only way of making money. There’s always hard labour, of course. And once my reading skills are better, I might even be able to work the same day job I did back home: bookkeeping. The thought makes me groan. The last thing I want is to be stuck in Thedas doing accounting, of all things. Especially without a calculator. 

But unlike back home, being a musician seems like a viable career choice here. Musicians aren’t common. The people of Thedas don’t have time to pursue hobbies. Most musicians and bards have it in their blood. Instruments are inherited, songs and stories passed down. And—although I can’t play most of them—I have the advantage of countless songs from my own world to draw on. Songs that have never been heard here before. 

The carpenter goes back to his work, and I strum the lute, smiling at the sound. It’s tuned differently to a guitar, so I have been figuring out how to play chords by ear. I’ve figured out most of the basics now. 

I know I can’t take too long, but I pick out a song as best I can on the lute, humming along to it. The sun goes down fast in the mountains though, so before too long I stand up with a sigh.

“I’m looking forward to the day you buy that thing from me,” the carpenter comments as I regretfully return the lute to its stand. “It deserves to be played.”

“You don’t want to keep it for sentimental reasons?”

The carpenter grins at me, showing yellowed teeth. “I get sentimental about coin, too.”

***

By the time I finish up in the village, the sun has already set. I make my way back to the Rift Mages’ keep. The walk back is dark, but I prefer it that way. I was never a fan of the dark, but that was before I was given a ring of stealth. In the dark, I am all but invisible. And with the light of the two moons and the pale green glow of the Breach, the Thedas sky is never completely dark. 

I can’t see the Breach from where I am. It’s hidden by one of the mountains. I just see the edges of it, bleeding out from behind the mountain like a sickly halo.

I try not to look at it. Every time I do, it reinforces just how much I do not want to be here.

***

That night, I dream about home, and wake up in tears. I roll onto my side and try not to sniffle. 

Beside me, Piotra shifts in her sleep and mumbles something. I've been sharing her bed. There weren’t enough beds to go around; and besides, it’s cold. I like to think that she gets more out of the arrangement than I do. Piotra has feet like little tiny icicles. 

After a moment, I feel her sit up.

“Juni?” she murmurs. “Are you okay?”

I nod, wiping my eyes. “Sorry for waking you up,” I whisper to her.

“It’s okay.” She settles back into the sheets, and I think she’s gone back to sleep, but then she says, “Do you miss your home?”

“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. I roll over onto my other side, so I’m facing her. “I miss my little brother. And my …” I realise it isn’t exactly common here to have ‘housemates’, so I say, “And the girl I used to live with.”

“Your girlfriend?” Piotra asks.

I give a weak chuckle. It’s refreshing how open Orlesians seem to be about matters like that. “No. Just my friend.”

“I understand.” Her pale eyes catch the moonlight as she looks at me. “It will be alright. Mattheau and Evanore will get you home. So will I.”

I nod, sighing. “Thanks, Piotra.”

We lie there in the dark for a moment, before I ask, “Do you miss your family?” 

“Sometimes,” Piotra says. “Yes. I was very young when I left the alienage, so I don’t remember much about them. But the mages of the Circle were like my family.” She shivers. 

“Was it bad?” I whisper. “In the Circle?”

“Not really,” Piotra says. “There were mean people and good people. Cruel mages and kind templars. I wasn’t that good at the politics of it all, so I mostly just tried to stay out of the way.” She sighs. “I wasn’t happy when the circles were dissolved so suddenly, but I do like that I can conduct my research unhindered now.” 

“What do you remember about your family?” I ask. 

Piotra hums softly. “Mostly my mother, and the hahren of the alienage. I remember him singing some song to me … but I don’t remember how it goes.”

“Did he speak to you in elvish?” I ask.

“A little. He used to call me da’len. It means ‘child’.” 

I smile. “I know.”

I sense her attention on me. “You do?”

Rubbing my feet together to warm them, I whisper, “I know some words, that’s all.”

“Like what?”

“Um …” It takes me a moment to remember. “Let’s see… ‘Ir abelas. Andaran atish’an.’”

“Which means?” 

“‘I’m sorry’, and, uh, ‘Welcome’, I think.” 

“Are you elf-blooded?” Piotra asks, excitement in her tone.

“What?” 

I feel her breath catch. “I—I mean … I don’t mean to offend—”

“No no,” I say. “I’m not offended, just surprised. I’m not elf-blooded. Both my parents were human.”

“Oh.” Disappointment. “Mattheau and I thought … but then … How do you know so much elvish?”

I chuckle. “Two phrases isn’t that much!”

“It’s more than the usual human would know.” Her eyes are wide. “I thought you might be the child of a noble and an elf.”

I shouldn’t have let it slip that I know any elvish. It must be because I woke up in the middle of the night. I sigh and shake my head. 

“Why did you and Mattheau think I was elf-blooded?” I ask. “We haven’t spoken about this before.” 

“Well … because you’re so nice to me.” 

I stare at her, speechless. “...That’s it?”

Piotra shifts in discomfort. “Yes. It’s not common. Mages are normally fine, because there are almost as many elven mages as there are human ones, but …”

Sighing, I wrap my arm around Piotra in a hug. “I apologise on behalf of all humanity.”

Piotra doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then she giggles. “You really are strange.” Her voice sounds unsteady. She clears her throat, then asks, “So how do you know elvish? Did you have an elven servant?”

“No. I had … I guess you could say …” With a trace of embarrassment, I mutter, “I suppose you could say I had an elven boyfriend.” 

“Really?” Piotra sounds enthralled, and she grips my hand with her slim fingers. “What was he like?” 

I scoff. “He was an ass,” I say with a wry tone. “It didn’t end well, I’m sorry to say.”

“Oh … yes …” Piotra sighs. “That’s all too common, I suppose.”

“It wasn’t because he was an elf.” I’m worried she might get the wrong idea. “Or, it was, but … He ended it.”

“Then he is an ass,” Piotra says, a smile in her voice. We giggle at that. 

I snuggle in against her, letting her rest her freezing feet against my legs. I’ve never had a sister, but I wonder if it would have been like this. 

Nah. More likely we would have just argued all the time. 

I smile. I close my eyes. I miss my brother.

“...I’m sorry my feet are so cold,” Piotra whispers.

I laugh, squeezing one of her feet between my calves. “I’ll take your cold feet over Mattheau’s snoring any day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who have subscribed, bookmarked, left kudos or a comment! I really appreciate it and it's keeping me super motivated to write more.
> 
> I hope this chapter wasn't too slow. I feel like the last one was rushed, so I'm trying to find a happy medium. We'll get there! What do you think of the pacing so far?


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